Seventeen eBook

The profoundly mortified William glanced back over
his shoulder, bestowing upon Jane a look in which
bitterness was mingled with apprehension. But
she remained where she was, and did not follow.
That was a little to be thankful for, and he found
some additional consolation in believing that Miss
Pratt had not caught the frightful words, “papa’s
cane,” at the beginning of the interview.
He was encouraged to this belief by her presently
taking from his hand the decoration in question and
examining it with tokens of pleasure. “’Oor
pitty walk’-’tick,” she called it,
with a tact he failed to suspect. And so he began
to float upward again; glamors enveloped him and the
earth fell away.

He was alone in space with Miss Pratt once more.

XVII

JANE’S THEORY

The pale end of sunset was framed in the dining-room
windows, and Mr. and Mrs. Baxter and the rehabilitated
Jane were at the table, when William made his belated
return from the afternoon’s excursion. Seating
himself, he waived his mother’s references to
the rain, his clothes, and probable colds, and after
one laden glance at Jane denoting a grievance so elaborate
that he despaired of setting it forth in a formal complaint
to the Powers—­he fell into a state of trance.
He took nourishment automatically, and roused himself
but once during the meal, a pathetic encounter with
his father resulting from this awakening.

“Everybody in town seemed to be on the streets,
this evening, as I walked home,” Mr. Baxter
remarked, addressing his wife. “I suppose
there’s something in the clean air after a rain
that brings ’em out. I noticed one thing,
though; maybe it’s the way they dress nowadays,
but you certainly don’t see as many pretty girls
on the streets as there used to be.”

William looked up absently. “I used to
think that, too,” he said, with dreamy condescension,
“when I was younger.”

Mr. Baxter stared.

“Well, I’ll be darned!” he said.

“Papa, papa!” his wife called, reprovingly.

“When you were younger!” Mr. Baxter repeated,
with considerable irritation. “How old
d’ you think you are?”

“What’s the matter with him?” Mr.
Baxter inquired, heatedly, of his wife.

William again came to life. “I was saying
that a person’s age is different according to
circumstances,” he explained, with dignity, if
not lucidity. “You take Genesis’s
father. Well, he was married when he was sixteen.
Then there was a case over in Iowa that lots of people
know about and nobody thinks anything of. A young
man over there in Iowa that’s seventeen years
old began shaving when he was thirteen and shaved
every day for four years, and now—­”

He was interrupted by his father, who was no longer
able to contain himself. “And now I suppose
he’s got whiskers!” he burst forth.
“There’s an ambition for you! My
soul!”